Faded Parchment
by Aelia O'Hession
Summary: She had thought that being Benjamin Gates' teaching assistant would be simple and calm. Never could she have imagined that life with the Gates family is ever simple and calm.
1. Frustration

Faded Parchment

**Faded Parchment**

**Aelia O'Hession**

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction. I am merely borrowing the genius of another for my own sordid needs. Therefore, I own nothing dealing with _National Treasure_.

**Author's Note:** All historical information has been researched as well as humanly possible. Any errors are unintentional or serve as plot devices when explained as thus. I am a historian, so if there are any question as to my sources or arguments about the information I have presented, please PM me via my profile.

Also, this is set after the first _National Treasure_ and deals with nothing concerning _Book of Secrets. _

**Chapter 1: Frustrated **

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent pattern and have been cleared for landing." The voice of the plane's captain drifted over the speakers, altering weary travelers of their progress. "I would like to welcome you all to Baltimore-Washington International Airport, where the local time is 8:45 PM."

One passenger closes the worn pages of her favorite novel, _Avalon_ by Anya Seton, and settles back into her seat. "Almost home," she whispers to herself. From the window to her right, the costal city of Baltimore, Maryland, gleams brightly with lights. For a few moments, only the hum of the engines and the occasional rustling of other passengers can be heard. Then, the speakers crackle, and the voice of one of the flight attendants spills across.

"For those passengers who originated in London, your luggage will be waiting in carousel B-2. For those who originated in Rome, carousel D-6. For those who originated in Warsaw, carousel A-3. My name is Tiffany, and it's been a pleasure flying with you all. On behalf of United International, thank you for choosing to fly with us, and have a wonderful night."

Picking up her messenger bag from the floor, _Avalon_ is stuffed back inside, waiting patiently for its next perusal. The owner of the book carefully avoids Tiffany on her way out, focused on getting her luggage and checking into her hotel for the night. Head down and eyes focused on the floor, the young woman forces her way though the crowded airport towards the luggage carousels. She hastily snatches her worn duffle bag from the carousel and hurries outside. As she waits for a cab, she reflects on what had transpired on her trip home to Poland.

Life had decided, in its perpetual irony, that taking a drastic downturn was a good idea for having a fun time. Not coming to the same conclusion as Life, the young woman, not settled in the back seat of a cab groans in frustration. During her visit home, the young woman's mother had once again brought up the subject that they fight about every single time - marriage.

The cabby stole a look in his rearview mirror of his passenger. The stormy look on otherwise pleasant features was enough to tell him that something had not gone well on this woman's vacation. This observation is based upon the many years that he has been working the airport route of the taxi service.

"Miss…" he prompts cautiously, "here's the hotel."

The young woman's head snaps up at the sound of the cabby's voice. "Oh…alright," she replies distractedly. She hands the cabby a crumpled lump of bills, not bothering to count how much is there. With a violent tug, she pulls her duffle from the taxi and makes her way through the front doors of the hotel.

"Good evening," a hotel clerk, whose name tag reads Kimberly, says brightly as the young woman steps up to the desk. "Do you have a reservation with us?"

"Yes, under Melita Racziewicz."

Kimberly's acrylic nails click on the keyboard of the computer as she searches for Melita's name. "Could you spell that?" she asks after a minute of searching.

Melita rolls her honey colored eyes. "R…a…c…z…k…i…e…w…i…c…z."

Kimberly dutifully types the letters in, sensing the woman's annoyance. "Ah, here we are. Room 303." She hands over a key card to Melita. "Enjoy your stay."

Melita merely nods before heading towards the elevator, luggage in tow. She says not a word of greeting to the elevator attendant, lost in her anger and frustration. Seeing the number of her hotel room glimmering in the bright artificial light brings a little relief to Melita. She shoves her keycard into the lock, growling at it when it refuses to unlock. A second attempt is much more gratifying as the lock clicks open. Another growl resounds in her throat as she trips over the complimentary newspaper.

Dumping her belongings into a corner, she kicks the door shut, then snatches up the offending newspaper. She tosses it onto the bed as a reminder to scour the help wanted section after her shower. A half hour later with all traces travel scum destroyed, Melita sinks into the hotel bed as though it were the most comfortable thing on Earth.

Finding nothing interesting on the front page, she turns to the help wanted section. "C'mon," she snaps at the paper, "you've got to have something promising in you. There is no way I'm returning to Poland for the rest of my life now that my graduate studies are finished." Scanning the pages, nothing offers itself up. Then, just before she is about to throw the paper across the room, a small notice at the bottom corner of a page catches her attention.

"Teaching assistant wanted. Considerable historical knowledge a must. Call for interview. 202-555-1045."

"Ah ha!" Melita shrieks in triumph. "This is exactly what I'm looking for." Scribbling a note to call in the morning, Melita goes to bed with a much brighter outlook for the future.


	2. Interview

Chapter 2: Interview

**Chapter 2: Interview**

Finally fully rested after days of travel and family dispute, Melita wakes feeling refreshed. Dressing to suit the late August weather in Washington DC, she ponders what to say on her phone call. She has absolutely no idea whom she is calling, and that alone planted a seed of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Pulling her cell phone from her messenger bag, Melita dials the number from the ad. As the phone rings, she can feel her heart pound somewhere near the vicinity of her throat.

"Office of Benjamin and Abigail Gates."

"Hello, um, this is Melita Raczkiewicz. I'm responding to a help wanted ad that listed this number as the contact."

The man's voice on the other end of the line was silent for a few moments. "Would you be able to come in for a personal interview later today?"

Melita blinks in surprise. "Certainly. When and where?"

The man on the line gives her a time and place for the interview. "That's everything you need for now."

"Wait!" Melita cries in panic. "Who am I looking for?"

The man chuckles. "You'll know. See you in a few hours." The phone line clicks, alerting Melita that the mysterious man has hung up.

Filled with both trepidation and excitement, Melita paces the small hotel room, long skirt fluttering about her ankles. Without coming to any immediate conclusions as to what to expect, she grabs her messenger bag and heads out into the city of Washington D.C. in search of some breakfast.

The noise of the city soothes her jangling nerves. Sitting at a small café table on the corner of the street, she amazes at the seeming dichotomy of autonomy and connectivity within the city social structure. As she watches the city's inhabitants walk past her little table, Melita has to laugh to herself. The outfits some people choose to wear in public are absolutely hysterical; the absurd combination of leopard print and vinyl remains one of her favorites. Lost within her book and people watching, she feels her frustration slip away little by little.

Nearby, church bells chime out quarter to the hour, reminding Melita that she has a meeting. Hastily shoving her book into her bag, she hurries along the streets toward her destination. Just before the bells chime the hour, she arrives at the given address.

Looking up at the building, Melita has to laugh aloud. Before her stands the Lincoln Memorial, majestic in the afternoon sun. Off to the side of the grand stairs stands a gaggle of Girl Scouts, all dressed in their little green uniforms. Further up the stairs, alone, stands a man with a college professor look about him.

As Melita makes her way up the stairs, the man calls out to her. "Miss Raczkiewicz, I presume?"

"Yes…" Melita says cautiously. "And you are?"

"Benjamin Gates."

Relief floods through Melita. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gates."

Ben smiles at her warmly. "You wish to take this teaching assistant position? I'm not going to lie to you about the demands that will be put on you on a daily basis." As he speaks, he studies her face, gauging her reaction. "I'm assuming you have a solid base in history, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. I'm going to quickly run down a list of tasks that will be asked of you as my teaching assistant…" While he listed off and explained the duties that would be apportioned to Melita if she took on the job, Melita listened carefully. Though the list was daunting to hear, she was sure that she would be able to handle it. "Do you still want to take this offer?" Ben questions at the end.

"Absolutely. Thank you very much Mr. Gates for this opportunity. It's quite the desirable position at this juncture of my life." Melita quickly falls silent, unsure if it was wise to divulge more.

Nodding in understanding Ben says, "I appreciate your interest. All of the other applicants ran away at this point of the meeting. And there's no need to keep calling me 'sir' or 'Mr. Gates.' It's Ben, if you would." He hands her a stack of papers with the explanation of: "Fill out these work papers and turn them into my secretary when you show up to start on Monday. I look forward to working with you."

"And I you. See you on Monday."

The pair left the Lincoln Memorial companionably, each going their separate ways once they came to the end of the grand staircase. Melita walks back in the direction of the café she had previously occupied, realizing that it was now supper time.


	3. Arrangements

Chapter 3: Arrangements

**Chapter 3: Arrangements**

"SHIT!" Melita shrieks the next morning. She launches herself out of bed and begins to furiously pace the small hotel room. "Where the hell am I supposed to live? Stupid girl; not thinking ahead." Melita gives herself a sound smack on the forehead. In truth, it is quite the large oversight. All of her belongings are currently residing in her small apartment in Boston.

"I'll just have to talk to Mr. Gates when I see him later today."

Melita spends the next hour in a frantic rush, attempting to pull herself together for her first day as a teaching assistant. She finally settles on a pair of white wide leg linen pants and a mint green blouse. Stuffing her feet into white heeled sandals, she grabs her messenger bag and dashes out of the hotel.

Once outside, she joins the throng of people on their morning commute. Her journey on the Metro is a careful practice of self control. As she is jostled about, she bites back snarky, inurbane comments that would have earned her more than a few slaps to the face. Finally, she reaches the most blessed Metro stop for the University.

Conquering the University, on the other hand, is quite a different task. Having absolutely no knowledge of the campus, she wanders about, almost like a blind person. Fortunately, she stumbles upon the administration building quite by accident.

"Can I help you?" a kindly, middle aged woman with reading glasses slung around her neck asks.

"Ah, yes. I need to turn in working papers for being a teaching assistant to Professor Gates." Melita withdraws the papers from her bag and offers them to the secretary.

"Wonderful. We can handle those. Anything else, dear?"

"A map would be wonderful."

The secretary hands over the map with little ceremony. "Professor Gates teaches in the Monroe Building. It's not far."

"Thank you."

Not wanting to be any more of a nuisance, Melita flees the building, making a beeline for the Monroe Building. Students bustle about, reminding Melita of her blissful days as an undergrad. Things were much simpler then. During those years, she did not have her mother harping on her to get married and settle down. The silence was a treasure. Shaking her head clear of memories, she sets her feet on the main stair, making her way up to Benjamin Gates' office.

"452…454…458…wait, what?"

Melita looks down the hallway again. Where is number 456? She walks back down a few doors and re-reads the door numbers. She paces up and down the corridor a few times, puzzling about the missing office.

"I should have warned you that it was on the other side of the hall."

Melita spins around to find Ben Gates, standing in his office door, grinning at her.

"Don't worry, it confuses everyone. Come in." He holds the door open to the "missing" office. The interior is a riot of books, papers, and random artifacts. Melita smiles in spite of her self.

"We've got an easy day today. Classes don't start for another few weeks. Until then, we are in a perpetual state of chaotic preparation. These next two weeks before classes come into session will be your trial by fire, as it were." He pulls a folder from a desk drawer. "Inside this folder is my syllabus, list of reading, paper assignments….the usual slew of things to keep the undergrads busy. Questions?"

Melita flips through the information for a few moments, absorbing it. She quirks an eyebrow in skepticism when she reads the title of the course. "Battle Tactics of the Ages? Are you sure you can fit all of this into one semester"

Ben leans back in his chair. "It's a two hour class that meets Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I have hopes that I can cover most of it."

"Are you looking at this from solely a military standpoint, or are you going to take a cultural look at it as well?"

Ben eyes his new assistant. "Cultural?"

Melita gawks. "You mean you haven't even _considered_ discussing the cultural influences on these battle tactics? Do you realize just how much individual culture brings these battle tactics to fruition? Tracing patterns of battle across cultures as an example of cultural diffusion?"

From the blank look on Ben's face, Melita knew that he had not considered these points. An idea was rapidly forming in her head, but she was unsure if it was her place to suggest such a thing. Deciding that she would never get anywhere if she kept her mouth shut, she voices her idea.

"I suggest we do this: you spend an hour or a day teaching the battle tactic itself, and I will spend the remaining hour or another day teaching the cultural aspect behind each tactic."

Absolute astonishment is written across Ben's face. "Who are you?"

Melita smiles, seeing that she has won the battle. "Melita Therese Raczkiewicz, recent graduate from Harvard with a doctorate in history and cultural anthropology."

Ben settles back in his chair. "Well then, it looks like I'll be learning something this semester as well."

"Oh, there's one more thing."

Ben raises his eyebrows, prompting Melita to continue.

"I don't actually live in the DC area. I actually live in Boston…"

"Ah, you need some sort of living arrangement," Ben chimes in, immediately sensing the problem. "I think I have a solution, if its agreeable. My wife, Abigail, and I were looking for someone to help around the house and look after our young daughter. Riley is, I must heartily admit, pretty useless. You can live at our house and have your things shipped down. We have plenty of space."

"I'll do it."

Ben Gates smiles at his new teaching assistant. She had proven herself to be a good find in more than one regard. Whether or not she would disrupt the delicate internal balance of his house was another story. Riley certainly would not like the intrusion. Abigail would be relieved to have some help, and he, he was pleased to have a remarkably intelligent co-teacher.

"Excellent. I'll get all the papers settled today and you can move in tonight. Welcome to the family."


	4. Going Home

Chapter 4: Going Home

**Chapter 4: Going Home **

The rest of the day is spent hidden behind piles of books, gathering information for the class. Every so often, Melita would mumble to herself about the stupidity of attempting to teach the history of warfare in a single semester. The idea is sheer ludicrous! She sits at a small desk in the corner of Ben's office, taking the opportunity to glare at him occasionally. Finally, the clock on Ben's desk (a miniature version of the Big Ben) chimes the hour, releasing them for the day.

"We'll get your things from the hotel on the way home."

Melita nods silently. Being locked away in an office with only Benjamin Gates as company had taken its toll on Melita. The man mutters to himself constantly and has a rather annoying habit of pacing when he thinks. She was barely able to get any what she considered quality work done in that environment. The prospect of escaping to a large house where the possibility of being disturbed is slim brightened her outlook on life.

The drive out to the Virginia house was a silent one. Neither of the car's occupants made any attempt at conversation. Melita chose to pass the ride staring out the window, gazing longingly at the landscape as it flew by. Ben occasionally looks over at his passenger, wondering why she was so keen on staying in the DC area when her entire life was up in Boston. However, getting any sort of answer out of her seemed like an impossible task.

As the car pulled through the front gates of the house, wheels crunching on the gravel driveway, the spotlight of the garage flicks on. A woman's figure is illuminated in one of the front windows.

"That's Abigail."

Melita pulls her head out of her wandering thoughts and follows Ben's pointing finger. She nods in acknowledgement before unclipping her seatbelt. While they unpack Melita's few pieces of luggage from the trunk of the car, Ben stares suspiciously at the garage. His finger jabs the remote control to the door, and lazily the door opens. Inside sits a shiny red Ferrari.

"Riley…" mutters Ben with a sigh of frustration.

"Riley?" Melita echoes.

"Yeah, he's been a good friend for a few years now. I pulled him out of a derelict cubicle at a software development company. He helped me find the Templar Treasure. He's got his own apartment in the city…" Ben scratches his head in confusion. "So why is his car in my garage?" He shrugs his shoulders. "Guess we won't know 'til we get in the house."

Ben guides Melita though the front door. "Abby! I've got someone you need to meet!"

From somewhere within the house, Abigail Gates' voice retorts with, "If they're another interviewer, you can tell them to leave my house or I'll…" She walks into the foyer, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her eyes widen at the sight of Melita. "Who's this?"

Melita snaps her head around to glare at Ben. "You didn't tell your wife I was coming?"

Ben has the decency to look guilty. "I had thought that…"

Melita turns away from Ben to look at Abigail. "My apologies for my unannounced arrival. I am Melita Raczkiewicz, your husband's new teaching assistant/co-teacher and your new extra set of hands around the house."

Abigail's anger immediately deflates at Melita's decorous introduction. "Welcome. You're both just in time for supper. Come, I'll have Riley set yet another extra place." She walks down the hall, and Melita and Ben dutifully follow, leaving Melita's few pieces of luggage in the foyer.

"Riley! Set another place at the table. We have a new addition to the family."

"Yes, mom," comes a slightly disgruntled grumble from somewhere nearby.

Through the kitchen, Melita spots an unkempt head of brown hair, lounging on a couch in front of the television. 'That has to be Riley'Melita thinks to herself. Beside him, bounces a little girl, shrieking with delight at a Dora the Explorer commercial. Melita smiles as she watches the head of light brown launch herself onto the unsuspecting Riley.

"Hey!" Riley yelps as the little girl latches herself to his neck."

From beside her, Abigail laughs. "Laisi can't speak yet, but she's devoted to her "uncle" Riley. You're not going to mind helping out with Laisi and the housework along with helping my stubborn husband with his class?"

Melita turns to look at Abigail. "The busier I am, the less I have to worry about." Before Abigail and get too curious and ask too many questions, Melita poses a different topic of conversation. "Would it be alright if I had my other things shipped down from Boston? I really have no reason to keep my apartment up there when I'll be staying in D.C. indefinitely."

"That's perfectly alright. We've got a hallway on the third floor with a section of rooms that we don't use and have no idea what to do with them." She looks back at Riley and Laisi for a moment, just to make sure that they were not causing any trouble. "I hope you don't mind that Riley will be living on the other end of the hall. Apparently he can't live at his place anymore…"

"Ben's not going to like that."

"Supper should be an interesting experience tonight."

The two women stand in the kitchen, firmly established in the bond of womanhood against all idiocy that men try to create. They seem to know that they are going to have to have a united front in the coming months. More importantly, both women know that the family must remain united at all times, or risk losing everything.


	5. Fighting Like Children

Chapter 5: Fighting Like Children

**Chapter 5: Fighting Like Children **

"You WHAT?!"

Diplomatically, Melita stares at her plate as Ben verbally abuses Riley.

"I can't live at my place anymore," he says as he shovels a forkful of vegetables into his mouth.

Ben points at him threateningly with his fork. "And why, exactly, can't you live there anymore?"

Between mouthfuls of chewed carrots, Riley explains. "I was… chew… kicked out… chew… because I wasn't ….chew… paying rent."

The lines on Ben's face smooth out into a mask of utter stillness. "Do I want to know why?" His voice holds a tone that suggests he might be better off not knowing the reason.

"I'm broke." Riley spears his chicken and cuts at it vigorously.

Abigail jumps into the fray, in an effort to keep the suppressed violence from becoming a reality. "Riley, where did all of your money from the Templar Treasure go?"

"Uncle Sam took it. He found out I'd been cheating on my taxes ever since I was an undergrad in college."

"Biting the hand that feeds," Melita mutters under her breath.

From across the table, Riley glares at the newcomer, almost begging her to enter into the mess. Unable to back down from a challenge, Melita snaps at him, "It's your own damn fault."

His mouth opens and closes like a fish.

"Nothing to say?" She gives him some time to gather his thoughts as she chews on a beef tip. "It may not be the most intelligent government, but eventually they do find you and take you for all you're worth."

Riley continues to glare at her, dislike dripping from his eyes. "And what would an immigrant know of our government?"

Melita's cutlery clatters onto the tabletop. Her face is a mask of dead calm, but beside her, Abigail can sense that Riley has gone too far. Knowing that in order to save the sanity of her house, Abigail must do something to end the situation before Melita jumps across the table and strangles Riley.

"Ben," she begins in a soothing tone, "why don't you and Riley go finish this discussion in your study. Melita and I can clean up the table and get Laisi to bed. I'll get her acquainted to the rhythms of the house."

Knowing that Abigail is the real power in the house, Ben nods his head in agreement. He grabs Riley by the collar and nearly drags him out of the dining room. Alone, Abigail turns to the woman seated beside her.

"Melita, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," Melita responds, shrugging off Abigail's comforting hand on her shoulder.

"No, Riley was being completely insensitive. There was no need for him to act that way towards you, our guest."

Melita's face remains impassive. Her thoughts were swirling around inside her skull. Her hands fidget, looking for something simple to occupy herself to keep herself from over thinking what just happened.

Abigail presses some dirty plates into Melita's twitchy hands. "Let's get this mess cleaned up." The two women take solace in the simple female task of cleaning up after a meal. It keeps Melita busy and helps settle her mind.

After getting little Laisi tucked in bed, the two women settle into the couch in the living room. Above them, the angry voices of Ben and Riley grow increasingly louder as the minutes pass. Abigail rolls her eyes and presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose, trying to prevent a full blown headache.

"So, from the sound of things, you're going to be doing quite a bit of teaching in Ben's class."

"It's not my fault he was going to be ignoring the evolution of warfare in a cultural context." Melita chuckles to herself. "I'm not sure Ben is ready for what he's brought be on to do. At least he's not afraid of intelligent women."

Her last comment earns a wry smirk from Abigail. "He wasn't too keen on the intellectual female type when he first met me. Probably because I didn't believe him that there was a map on the back of the Declaration of Independence."

Melita chuckles again. "He was pretty shocked when I called him an idiot because of what he outlined in his course syllabus."

"Ben's used to having his way." She raises her eyes to the ceiling, thinking about the two men upstairs. "And Riley is just…Riley. He's usually much better behaved than this. My guess is that he isn't telling us the whole story."

"Does Ben have a hope of getting the real story out of him?"

Abigail shakes her head. "The two have been close friends ever since Ben freed Riley from a dreary cubicle. But, there are just some things that they never talk about. I don't even have a hope of getting it out of him, and Riley thinks of me as a sister!"

Yawning, Melita nods her understanding. "I think its time I turned in."

"Hopefully the boys won't keep you up too long with their fighting. There will be bed sheets in one of the drawers of the dresser in your bedroom. Extra blankets are folded in the closet."

"Thanks. See you in the morning. And thanks again for letting me stay, even if the other members of your house aren't as pleased." Melita takes her leave from Abigail, making her way up the two flights of stairs to her third floor suite of rooms. After dressing the bed, she falls into an exhausted sleep, hoping that tomorrow goes better.


End file.
